


Delicious

by charmed310



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmed310/pseuds/charmed310
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accomplished food critic/event planner Draco Malfoy has a big secret: despite his sensitive palate, he cannot cook. Stuck in a bet with his good friend Blaise to cook for an entire dinner party, Draco puts his trust in the world famous Chef Harry Potter to teach him the tricks of the trade, and to keep his mouth shut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delicious

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HD_Fanfair's 2012 Career Fair on LiveJournal, edited slightly from the original post.

Draco Malfoy sighed heavily and signalled the server.

‘Yes, please tell your chef that I ordered my filet medium rare, not rare,’ he said, handing his plate back to the gentleman.

‘Certainly, sir.’

Draco picked up his glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and took a sip. It was going to taste fabulous with his filet mignon, if only the foolish chef could learn the difference between rare and medium rare.

Around him, Draco’s friends were chuckling behind their serviettes.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Pansy laughed. ‘You just always do this. We place bets on whether or not you’re going to find something to complain about before the appetisers arrive. I won this week.’

‘How much?’

‘Twenty galleons.’

‘Good job, me.’

Eventually, Draco was given his properly cooked filet by the very worried-looking server, and the meal continued.

‘You know, Draco,’ Blaise said once he’d finished his lamb wellington, ‘considering this very fancy job you’ve got critiquing the top chefs all over the world, and often tearing them to pieces in your reviews, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you cook anything.’

Draco almost succumbed to the shock of this statement, but managed to keep his healthy sip of wine in his mouth.

‘Of course you have,’ he replied swiftly before taking another gulp. He really didn’t want to get into this conversation. Ever.

Pansy and Bernadette looked at him thoughtfully. Draco could feel the heat rising up his neck and into his face. He hoped they wouldn’t notice.

‘I don’t think you’ve ever cooked for me either,’ Pansy said.

‘I’m sure I have. You’ve just forgotten in your old age.’

Zabini was laughing now. ‘I’ll bet you can’t even cook. I’m fairly sure you’d burn water.’

‘Oh, fuck off.’ Draco continued to drink his wine with haste. His three friends were all laughing now.

‘All right then, big time food expert. Cook for us since we’re all obviously suffering from amnesia. Probably poisoned us.’

‘I would do no such thing.’

‘You would if your food was terrible.’

Draco rolled his eyes, trying not to faint. ‘I can absolutely cook delicious, untainted food. I just prefer to let others do it for me. Besides, it’s not like I have the time to do pleasure cooking these days. I’ve got that dreadful house-warming party for the Aubergines this weekend, and a wedding the next weekend, and _then_ I’m attending a new restaurant opening the weekend after that. So, sorry you lot. Maybe one day I’ll treat you all to my talents again.’

‘Hey, I’m invited to that little shindig at the Aubergines. Eddie is an old friend of my Mum’s,’ Blaise said. 

‘I’m sure he is,’ Pansy muttered.

Blaise, sensitive over his mother’s reputation as being a gold-digging whore, snapped at Pansy to shut up, which encouraged more laughter from the two women.

Bending slightly lower over his plate, Draco sighed with relief. He possessed possibly the most sensitive palate this side of the Atlantic, and the charm and wit to get away with hiding the fact that he couldn’t wield a wand into making anything _actually_ palatable. It was a secret Draco had managed to keep well-hidden for ten years. No one was going to ruffle him into giving it up that easily.

\--

‘Oh, Draco, darling, it’s all turned out so well!’ 

The falsely gushing voice of Adele Aubergine crawled Draco’s blood. 

_Yes, I know. I organised it._ Using his best dazzling smile, Draco thanked Mrs Aubergine politely and encouraged her to mingle with her guests, who were already getting drunk on the champagne cocktails. He sighed, thinking fondly of the beautiful canapés and vol-au-vents that were still to be served. _What a waste._ He was certain they would all be lost to the delphinium bushes in the back garden before the evening was over at the rate this crowd was getting on with the drinks.

When the newly married daughter of one of his mother’s friends had mentioned she wanted to host a house-warming party for two hundred of her closest friends, Narcissa had insisted that she owl Draco for his services as _the_ event planner of the year, an accolade earned through the last four successful celebrity weddings he had organised from start to finish (all in the space of six months, thank you _very_ much!). 

Oh, Mrs Adele Aubergine and her bourgeoisie friends. They were all in their early twenties, all very sure of themselves, and all trying to climb the social ladder. Mr Edward Aubergine, an incredibly famous and wealthy business owner, was on his third marriage to the twenty-three year old Adele, and was still in that stage of enchantment with his new bride that he didn’t care that he was spending over three hundred thousand galleons on this soiree. Draco wondered how many expensive parties and holidays it would take for him to realise that his new little wife was just as much a leech as the last two. Draco wasn’t complaining, however. His staff would get a very handsome bonus from this event alone, and if the rumours were true, the editor of _Luxe Lifestyle_ was coming to the party, and he was bound to get a lot of publicity for his exquisite tastes.

With all moving along swimmingly in the main hall, Draco thought it was time to check on the kitchen staff. 

‘What the fuck, Mary? Can’t you do anything right?’

‘Sorry, Chef! Scallops in four minutes.’

‘Bloody hell,’ the chef muttered, checking dishes again and again. ‘And may I please get the fucking quails _in the same size_? Is that too fucking difficult?’

‘Yes, Chef!’ came the general reply.

Draco held back a laugh. Chef Harry Potter was standing at the end of the line, impatiently waiting on his _chefs de partie_ to complete their tasks in a timely manner, and for him this meant _immediately_.

‘How are things going in here, Chef?’ Draco asked.

‘Fucking brilliant, obviously,’ Harry snapped, grabbing a dish out of a line cook’s hand. He tasted the pastry that was on it. ‘About time. Taste that.’

Draco’s heart jumped a little as Harry fed him the pastry. He smiled as he chewed, the flavours of goat cheese and cranberry spreading over his tongue.

‘Delicious.’

‘Hear that you lot?’ Harry called, grinning at Draco. ‘You got a ‘delicious’ from our world famous food critic here! Now keep it up!’

Draco gazed at Harry, perhaps a little too admiringly, but then he’d always thought Harry had a lot of balls to do the things he did and come out of each situation all the better for it. Draco often wondered if this would have happened had he not been _the_ Harry Potter.

Harry had, much to the shock and awe of the entire Wizarding world, not taken up the Auror post generously offered to him by Minister Shacklebolt, and instead applied and was accepted to Le Cordon Rouge, the finest magical culinary school in Paris. Over the years following his graduation, it became clear to the giants in the food world that Harry Potter had some serious talent with a wand in the kitchen, and he quickly ascended in esteem as one of the most sought after celebrity chefs in Europe. 

It was inevitable, with Draco’s career that he and Harry would meet up on the job. 

When Harry returned to England after his time in Europe cooking for diplomats, presidents and some royalty, Draco had been rather touched to receive an owl from Harry asking for his expert advice on planning the most perfect New Years’ Eve party to open his new restaurant called ‘Sass’. Intrigued by the name, and by Harry’s willingness to involve him, Draco had agreed. No doubt Harry had been keeping abreast of the right people to get involved with when it came to marketing his restaurant, and as an accomplished food critic, having been brought up dining on every cuisine under the sun, Draco was the perfect person. 

Chef Harry Potter, an outrageous flirt in and out of the kitchen hadn’t been easy to work with, but Draco had enjoyed every minute of it. Harry was ridiculously talented, able to combine subtle flavours with his wand in a way Draco had never seen, or tasted before. Though their personalities often clashed, and Harry had quite a temper in the kitchen (Draco was left consoling many a sous chef who had burst into hysterics while Harry ranted and raved), they had a very similar vision for the restaurant, and at the end of the day, after many _many_ bottles of wine, they had come up with something spectacular, and the opening of Sass had been an amazing affair. Everyone Harry invited had made the effort to come to the event and had congratulated the two of them extensively on such a success. Before dinner had even been served, Draco had lost count of the number of job offers he had received. 

Later on in the night, half drunk on high spirits and champagne, Draco took a few minutes to watch Harry who looked so incredibly attractive dressed in his crisp white chef’s coat. They had shared a moment, just before the doors had opened. Harry had taken him by the arm and led him into the deserted pantry.

‘I couldn’t have done this without you, Draco. I owe you one.’

Draco smiled. ‘I’m going to hold you to that, Potter.’

Harry chuckled and pressed a kiss to Draco’s lips. Very simple, and very quick, but Harry had left Draco’s senses reeling amidst the unused vegetables and fruits. 

Harry caught Draco’s eye as he watched him from across the room and grinned. He raised his glass of champagne and glanced at the large clock in the main dining hall. It was four minutes to midnight. Draco continued to watch as Harry excused himself from his conversation with two starlets, and approached.

‘Meet me outside in two.’

Draco could still remember the excitement that curled in his belly as he grabbed a fresh glass of champagne with a shaking hand, and followed Harry to the back terrace which had been closed off to guests for the evening. With his heart hammering, Draco joined Harry where he was leaning over the balustrade gazing at the busy city below. Inside, the countdown to midnight had begun.

‘ _Five_!’ 

Harry removed the glass of champagne from Draco’s hand and set it down on the balustrade behind him.

‘ _Four!_ ’ 

With a smile, Harry looped an arm around Draco’s waist and pulled him closer. Draco was flush against Harry’s body, and could feel the heat radiating from him. He leaned in closer.

‘ _Three!_!’

‘Come back to mine tonight,’ Harry whispered against Draco’s face, his hand now snaking up to cup the back of Draco’s neck. 

‘ _Two!_

At that moment, there had been very little thought, only action, and one word left to say. ‘OK.’

‘ _One!_

Harry kissed him then, properly. His lips were delicious, moist and practically melting into Draco’s. His tongue slid past Draco’s lips and the hand at the back of his neck guided him in closer; Draco’s fingers twisted into the stiff fabric of Harry’s jacket as his knees almost gave way with the sensation. Harry held him tightly, sucking and nibbling gently on his lower lip, pressing kisses into his jaw and neck, making Draco groan with yearning.

‘Fuck. I can’t wait to take you home,’ Harry muttered in his ear.

Draco shivered, his mind now full of what Harry and his mouth could do to him. He was so hard it was amazing he could even think at all.

At that moment, the door to the terrace opened with a clatter and Harry and Draco jumped apart. The maître d’, Gian-Carlo stood in the threshold looking uncomfortable.

‘Chef Harry, Mr Malfoy, they are wanting you inside,’ he said timidly. ‘The champagne toasts.’

Harry sighed heavily and gave Draco an apologetic look. ‘Meet back here in an hour?’

Draco nodded and followed Harry, who was shouting at Gian-Carlo in broken Italian, back inside to the madness.

An hour later, the party was now in full swing, and both were up to their eyes in potential clients. Harry caught Draco’s eye over the heads of the crowd and shook his head. With a sinking feeling, Draco shrugged and shot Harry a wry smile. 

At three in the morning on New Years’ Day, Draco Apparated home. 

Alone.

* *  
* 

Almost six weeks later, their tryst on the back terrace of Sass might never have happened. The moment had passed, but Draco still yearned. Though Harry continued to flirt with him, and they had worked several more events since, Draco could only believe that Harry had forgotten all about their New Years’ kiss and promise. It was ridiculous for Draco to hope that Harry would one day realise how Draco felt about him, and suddenly remember wanting to shag him silly.

Draco paused to watch Harry work for a few more moments, and then, satisfied with the kitchen staff, went back out to the main hall to circulate. A couple of hours later, he saw Blaise Zabini, who had also been invited approaching with two glasses of champagne, one of which he offered to Draco.

‘Can’t tonight, Blaise, I’m working.’

Blaise merely shrugged and downed both glasses. ‘I’m _so_ bored. When’s the real party going to start? There are some delicious little morsels about this evening, and I’m not just talking about Potter’s food. ’

Draco laughed. Blaise had never really grown up. Ever the playboy, he was likely to bed anything with legs these days. 

‘Never going to happen. Their very old and very rich husbands probably have a squad of Hit-Wizards waiting in the wings to take down any younger competition.’

‘Willing to make a bet on that?’

‘That there are Hit-Wizards in the wings?’

‘No, idiot. That I can bed any girl that I wanted in this room, without getting caught by the old husbands.’

‘Without getting caught? Hmm.’

‘I’ll make it easy on you: A three course dinner for my birthday party in a fortnight if I win.’

‘Isn’t that a little steep?’

‘Not steep at all. I’ll invite lots of people to make it worth your while. I’m sure all of your foodie friends would love to sample your best.’

‘Right. And how will I know you’ve succeeded in bedding any of these girls?’

‘Knickers, of course.’

Draco made a face. ‘That’s disgusting.’

‘It’s the only way you’ll know.’ Blaise was grinning predatorily, a glint in his eye as he looked across the room. 

Draco followed his gaze. 

_Oh, fuck._

Right on target. Adele Aubergine. Draco groaned while Blaise laughed and sauntered over to her and asked her to dance. From the way she blushed and giggled, Draco knew this was going to end badly for him. His reputation would be ruined if Blaise got through with his challenge. Draco had very little doubt that he wouldn’t, the fucking prick.

Draco entered the kitchen where Harry and the staff were clearing away their equipment and returning the Aubergines’ space to normal.

‘Potter, I need a favour.’

‘Sorry, darling. I only do blow jobs on Thursdays.’

Draco didn’t justify his dig with an answer. ‘Can we meet tomorrow at Sass? I have something to tell you.’

Harry looked up at him quizzically. ‘What is it?’

Draco looked around, uncomfortably aware of his staff eavesdropping. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘OK, come round at eleven, then.’

‘Thanks.’

 

Draco arrived at Sass promptly at eleven o’ clock the next morning. Harry was already there, dressed in casual clothing, jeans and a nicely fitted jumper, quite unlike the get-up he wore as a chef. Draco was a little bit surprised, but nevertheless felt slightly less nervous. If Harry had been wearing his chef’s jacket it would have felt far too formal, and there was no way he’d have been able to voice his request. He’d been up half the night trying to figure out a way to phrase his predicament without getting Harry’s temper up, or making him laugh and tell everyone Draco was for lack of a better term, a fraud.

‘Good morning,’ Harry said, shaking Draco’s hand with a smile and inviting him to sit down. ‘Recovered from last night? I thought everything went well.’

Draco was sure he’d never recover from the night before after Blaise had pressed a wad of lacy fabric into his hand before he left. He had scrubbed and scrubbed, but the thought still made him cringe.

‘Let’s not talk about last night.’

‘OK, well, what can I do for you? You said you needed to tell me something.’

‘How busy do you plan on being during the next two weeks?’ Draco asked.

‘Quite. Restaurant running isn’t easy, you know.’

Draco awkwardly played with the end of the tablecloth. It was the one thing he hated about himself; he fidgeted when nervous. ‘Well, Harry, I’ve got a student for you.’

Harry laughed. ‘You know I don’t teach.’

‘Harry, please. He’s really willing, and he’s a good student.’

‘I’m far too busy to take on a student right now. You of all people should know.’

‘I do know, but I’m calling in that favour you owe me… from when you opened Sass.’

‘What favour? I don’t—oh.’

Now Harry looked extremely uncomfortable, and Draco could see his cheeks turning red.

‘Draco, I’m sorry.’

Unwilling to revisit that night, Draco quickly brought the subject back to Harry and his ‘student’.

Draco cleared his throat and continued. ‘The good news is, this student really knows a lot about food and flavours. In fact, he’s sort of an expert. He’s just behind in the actual _creation_.’

Harry looked at Draco sceptically. ‘And who might this student be?’

This was it. ‘I’m going to tell you, but I need your word that this will stay between the two of us.’

‘All right, you have my word.’

‘Me.’

Harry just blinked for a few moments.

‘You want me to teach _you_ to cook?’

‘Yes. Me. I tried culinary school, and they kicked me out I was so bad. Told me to concentrate on my strengths: flavours and throwing parties. They said maybe I could reapply later on after a little practice, but I never went back.’

‘And what makes you think I’m going to be able to teach you anything if the professional teachers couldn’t even teach you?’

‘I know you, and I respect you, and I’m not scared shitless of you.’ _Not much, anyway._

‘Why the sudden need to learn to cook, anyway? You’re getting on just fine ripping apart chefs and throwing your fabulous parties.’

Draco explained about the bet he had unwittingly made with Blaise, and the terms. By the end of it Harry was rolling with laughter.

‘Stop it. This is really embarrassing, and worse yet, my entire career could be ruined from this stupid fucking bet. I hate straight people!’

Harry choked back another laugh. ‘All right, all right. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this.’

‘Until the day you die.’

‘Until the day I die, I swear. But, Draco, I can’t promise that I’m going to be able to teach you to cook in time for this party.’

‘As long as you promise to try every method you know so I can put my name on it.’

‘Deal.’

‘Thank you a million and six times over again, Harry. Consider your debt repaid with credit.’

‘Credit, eh? I could think of ways to use that up.’

Draco ignored him. ‘When can we start?’

After checking their respective calendars, Harry and Draco agreed on a time for the first lesson, and Draco left feeling only slightly better than he had when he’d walked into Sass. Working with Harry was always difficult, but Draco promised himself to suck it up for the good of his career. He just hoped Harry would keep the flirting to a minimum; he didn’t think he could stand the pressure.

They met again four days later at Sass where the kitchen was closed until dinner service and deserted.

Draco pulled out the menu he had prepared the evening before. He was so annoyed at himself for opening his mouth and getting caught up in this bet with Blaise, but at the very least, he knew how to choose a good yet simple menu.

Harry took it from him and consulted it carefully, nodding. ‘Escargots, spinach salad with bacon, broiled lobster tail with prime rib, served with a mashed potato soufflé, good, and for dessert, tirami– I’m not teaching you to make tiramisu.’ Harry struck it off the menu in bright red ink. ‘It’s a ridiculous dessert.’

Draco grabbed his menu back and removed the red ink with his wand. ‘And what would you have me serve instead, store-bought ice-cream? We’re doing the tiramisu. It’s delicious and creamy, and _I_ want it served.’

Harry gazed at Draco, his eyes alight. ‘My culinary talents are quite extensive, you know. There are other things that are delicious and creamy, and I’d be delighted to share them with you, _Draco_.’

The mental image of Harry Potter sharing desserts, and skin, with Draco right there in the kitchen made him extremely hot under the collar.

Draco cleared his throat. ‘Well, unfortunately for you, it’s Blaise and his friends I’m concerned about.’

Harry shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, but I can’t guarantee it’s going to be as exquisite as my crème brûlée, for instance.’

‘Thank you ever so for the offer, but it’s going to be tiramisu.’

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Right. Let’s get started, then. Since this is a crash course, I won’t overwhelm you with too many basics, and just stick to what you’re going to cook that night.’

‘Sounds fine.’

‘OK. Go ahead and take out your wand. I’m going to teach you the easy way to cook lobster.’

Saying a short prayer in the hopes that he wouldn’t burn down the entire restaurant, Draco picked up his wand and stood beside Harry at their station. Harry demonstrated, slowly, the wand movements, and had written down the spells used to heat the water to the correct temperature, and then how to remove the lobster and prepare it for service. Try as he might, Draco couldn’t get the wand movement fluid enough or fast enough and he succeeded in overcooking both of the beautiful lobster tails Harry had him practice on.

‘I’m shit at this!’ Draco burst out, banging his wand on the table. ‘I’m going to be discredited and my life is going to be over.’

‘Melodramatic much?’ Harry said before laughing. He Summoned a new lobster from the tank. Draco hoped this one wouldn’t die in vain. No doubt the stray cats outside would be feasting on dry, rubbery lobster that evening.

‘Let me show you again.’ Harry covered Draco’s wand hand with his own and guided the wand tip at the pot. With a gentle flick, the flames were on and the water began to boil to the perfect temperature. He guided Draco’s wand to the seasonings and added the salt to the water. 

‘Now, we’re just going to boil for a minute or two and then take it out to finish.’

Draco had seen Harry cook many times before, but seeing him, and actually being with him were two different things. It was like he could just _feel_ when it was right. It was incredibly sexy, that. Not to mention the way Draco himself was feeling with Harry’s chest up against his back.

‘Is it ready now?’ Draco asked softly.

‘Almost. Big lobsters like this one will go really red before they’re fully cooked, so you just have to time it right. Just a few more seconds.’ 

Draco waited. 

‘Now.’ With very little help from Harry this time, Draco flicked his wand and the lobster flew out of the pot and on to the prep table.

‘Good. Now for seasoning, we’ll just use these herbs and brush with some butter and he’ll be ready to go.’

Draco had suddenly become aware that Harry had moved the hand that was guiding him and had placed it on Draco’s hip. …And it really felt quite comfortable there.

‘Perfect, Draco,’ Harry was saying. ‘Now remember the sweeping movement for the broil.’

Draco applied his wand to the lobster tail and watched it sizzle. He could see the beautiful colour he expected from a broiled lobster appearing. He was really doing this! He felt Harry inhale at his back, about to speak, and removed his wand. 

‘You read my mind.’

Draco smiled. ‘Is it ready?’

Harry chuckled. His hand was still at Draco’s hip, and he turned Draco to face him. Draco could see his eyes darken, and he swallowed hard.

‘Let’s see.’

‘Delicious,’ Harry declared five minutes later with a grin on his face. 

‘I can’t believe I did it!’ Draco couldn’t remember being this excited since he’d got his first broomstick. He flung his arms around Harry. ‘Thank you!’

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just wanted to get me alone and learn all my secrets.’

Draco chortled. ‘Maybe.’

Harry pulled back from Draco slightly. ‘I never apologised to you properly.’

‘For what?’

‘For starting something I didn’t finish on New Years’.’

Draco felt himself blushing. ‘We’ve been busy since then,’ he said quietly. 

‘Draco, I haven’t stopped thinking about you, or what I wanted to do to you that night, and I’m sorry I didn’t make more effort.’

‘And now?’ Draco asked.

In reply, Harry pulled Draco to him, just like he had on New Year's and kissed him, hard and desperate, and it was just as delicious and as Draco remembered. He pushed Draco back against the countertop and began to unbutton his shirt, kissing the bare skin he exposed until he reached Draco’s flies and got to his knees.

‘Guess what?’ Harry’s voice was mischievous as he unzipped and released Draco from his trousers.

‘What?’ Draco was completely breathless.

‘It’s Blow job Thursday.’

Draco’s laugh was quickly turned into a gasp when Harry took his cock in his mouth. Oh, god, Harry had a talented tongue. It was like he just _knew_ what Draco liked, how hard he liked it and how much he could take. Just before he was reduced to a writhing mass of ecstasy, Harry stopped and stood up. There was a hungry glint in his eye as he quickly divested himself of his trousers and jumper, and Draco was allowed a stunning view of Harry’s naked body. Though narrow all over, Harry spent a lot of time working off the food he had to eat every day, and his muscles showed it. His cock stuck straight out in front of him, just begging for attention. Draco stepped out of his shoes and trousers, and reached out for Harry. He stroked slow lines with his fingers down Harry’s chest, scratching his nipples gently, feeling the muscles of his abdomen contract at his touch. Harry moaned low in his throat when Draco brushed the tip of his cock with his hand, and he pulled Draco closer when he wrapped a hand around the length, pulling and stroking. 

Harry pushed the shirt Draco still wore off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. ‘Turn around,’ he murmured. 

Draco obeyed, turning slowly around, pressing his palms flat against the countertop. He sighed at the feel of Harry’s open mouth at the back of his neck, sucking and nipping all the way down to his arse. 

Harry was on his knees again. Draco’s cock twitched as Harry encouraged him to spread his legs open wider, and swiped a spit-slippery finger over his hole. He reached a hand around to stroke Draco’s hardness again as he teased him. Draco moaned and gasped when Harry’s tongue dipped into arsehole, warm and wet, and so, so good. He twisted against Harry’s mouth, fingernails scratching the cold granite beneath them. He couldn’t stand much more teasing. He wanted to come with Harry inside of him.

‘Want you to fuck me,’ he panted. 

‘Eager, are you?’ Harry said, getting to his feet again. He wrapped an arm around Draco’s body, and pressing a kiss to his shoulder, pushed slowly into him. He stayed very still for a few moments, steadying his breath, before pulling back again, making the sting and burn so sweet. He took Draco's prick in his hand again, tugging firmly, the other hand tight at his hip.

Draco could feel his orgasm building for the third time. The heat began to spread through his chest, and down to his toes. He arched back, turning his head to catch Harry’s lips in a scorching kiss as his release tumbled through him. Harry held Draco’s jaw in place and continued to kiss him as he shuddered behind him, inside of him, the muffled curse speaking his completion.

They lay together on the floor afterward, various pieces of their clothing cushioning their heads. Harry held Draco’s hand over his chest, stroking his fingers delicately.

‘If I’d known all it would take to learn to cook was some sexual tension, I’d have come to you sooner,’ Draco said.

Harry laughed and kissed his fingers. ‘You can cook anything you want, Draco. You just have to know that, too.’

Draco turned to look at him. ‘Will you come with me to Blaise’s, just for moral support?’

‘I think I can convince Stephanie to work the full service that night.’

‘You’re the best.’ Draco sat up and kissed Harry. ‘What time is it anyway?’

‘Nearly four. I guess we should get up before we give my poor overworked sous chef a heart attack. Why don’t you come by later? I miss our wine nights.’

Draco smiled. ‘I’d love to.’

*

Waking the next morning, aching and a little hungover, with Harry’s arm still draped over his hips, Draco smiled. He and Harry had sat out on the back terrace of Sass drinking until well after midnight, and then after another magical wine-soaked kiss, Harry had again invited Draco to his to spend the night. They made love twice more before collapsing, utterly spent, in Harry’s bed. It had been an emotional day all around.

Rolling into Harry’s loose embrace, Draco began to feel nervous again about his ability to cook everything on Saturday, but he consoled himself that Harry would at least have his back.  
* *  
* 

Draco woke at six the morning of Blaise’s birthday party. He’d spent the night with Harry again in order to get a few last minute tips from him before he left for the market to purchase his bi-weekly produce. 

It had taken him nearly a week to fully convince Harry, but he’d finally succeeded in getting a lesson on tiramisu. It had turned out to be ridiculously simple, and he had learnt, much to his amusement, that Harry only hated it so much because it had cost him ten points of a flawless exam mark in his finals at Le Cordon Rouge. Really, he shouldn’t have judged.

The individual tiramisus were chilling in Harry’s freezer, following the tip that it always tasted better the day after it had been made.

Harry sauntered into the kitchen and put on the coffee while Draco sat at the table, already practicing wand movements and spells as he checked his menu. 

‘I think you’ve studied harder for this that you did for your O.W.L.s,’ Harry said, placing a steaming mug of black coffee beside him and an arm around his shoulder. 

‘Nonsense. This is much more important.’

‘Well, I’m very proud of you. Maybe after this you might start cooking regularly. Give this old dog a break once in a while.’

‘Ha ha.’

* 

Draco arrived at Blaise’s house at five thirty, an hour and a half before the other guests were due to arrive, armed with all of his ingredients and adopting an air of complete confidence. Blaise looked impressed, anyway. In reality, it was like facing down a dementor.

The kitchen was unfamiliar, but Draco tried not to let that bother him. He laid out his ingredients for the first course and got to work. Blaise flitted in and out of the open kitchen, admiring his techniques, and asking loads of questions Draco didn’t even think he had the knowledge to ask. He’d obviously done his research. It was a good thing they were friends, or Draco would have definitely been suspicious of sabotage.

It was nearly seven before Harry showed up. Draco had told Blaise he’d invited a friend to be his kitchen assistant, but hadn’t said who. He was almost glad Harry turned up late for he was sure Blaise would have accused him of getting a world class chef to do all his work for him, which wasn’t that far from the truth. At least now Blaise had seen him on his own.

The doorbell went and guests started arriving which distracted Blaise from harassing Draco in the kitchen.

‘How’re you doing so far?’ Harry whispered.

‘Nervous as fuck.’

‘Don’t be. I’ll get you out of trouble without anyone seeing if I need to.’

Before he was really ready, all of Blaise’s guests were seated and ready to be served. Though he fumbled with the dressing for the salad, and the escargots were too garlicky for his taste, everyone seemed to enjoy them all the same. Draco and Harry returned to the kitchen to start the entrees. 

Taking a deep breath, Draco looked at the lobsters before him. Harry placed one hand at his hip and the other over his wand hand, and whispered, ‘It’s going to be delicious.’

Brushing up against Draco’s back, Harry succeeded in reminding Draco of their first lesson on lobster. It went off flawlessly. Their prime rib lesson had taken a similar path, ending with them going at it on Harry’s kitchen table painted in butter sauce. Draco grinned through his entire preparation and service of his main meal. Harry had surreptitiously helped with the potato soufflé when Draco, in a fit of high spirits, had begun to overheat the dish.

Draco could barely chew his first bite as he watched his friends and several of his colleagues begin their own entrees. 

‘Oh, perfect,’ sighed Bernadette, her eyes closed as she chewed. 

‘I really can’t understand why you don’t cook more often, Draco. At this rate you could give Chef Harry here a run for his money!’

Harry nudged Draco with his knee under the table and they shared a smile. He had done it!

 

Later, after the tiramisu had been thoroughly enjoyed, the kitchen had been cleaned and the equipment put away and Draco and Harry returned home. They sat at Harry’s kitchen table, feet up and finishing off another bottle of wine. 

‘Another late night,’ Harry said yawning. 

‘Harry, I can’t thank you enough for everything.’

‘Well, it was an enormous effort and strain on my part, and I can assure you that you’ll be paying me back in kind for many months to come. In fact, I may even stretch it to years.’

‘Is that so?’

‘That’s right, Malfoy. Many, many _delicious_ years.’

Fin.


End file.
